Doctor Who: The Feast of the Drowned by Stephen Cole

Author:Stephen Cole
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Science-Fiction:Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780563486442
Publisher: BBC NE PUBN
Published: 2006-06-14T08:32:30+00:00

* * *

The screen was blurring in front of Vida’s eyes, and she forced herself to concentrate. It was late, and the day seemed to have gone on for ever. She wished she was somewhere else, far away and sunny, doing the things it was fun to stay up all night doing. But not sleeping. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to fall asleep again, now she knew what waited in the dark.

The bottom had fallen out of her life. She had told the Doctor just about every secret she knew, even shown him the new transmitting tracers which only a handful of people were supposed to know about. The Doctor had grinned and called them quaint. Vida felt like calling him one or two words too.

She was hanging out for a hug right now. Where the hell was Andrew?

‘Found anything weird yet?’ asked Mickey through a yawn.

‘Apart from the way I’m sitting here with a complete stranger riffling through confidential files for clues as to why an alien intelligence might have sunk a frigate? No.’

‘Only asking,’ he muttered.

‘A vice admiral is showing up in a few hours. If Andrew doesn’t put in an appearance soon – he’s my boss – I’ll have to go solo and…’ She slumped forwards, pushing her head against the cool glass of the monitor screen. ‘What do I tell him? What the hell do I tell him? He’s been putting all the secrecy around the wreck down to some internal cover‐up, trying to stop high‐up heads rolling.’

‘Tell him the truth – that it’s down to aliens.’

‘It’s one thing finding unidentified organisms in sea water. It’s another finding them in the bodies of senior naval personnel.’ She raised her head wearily. ‘Besides, Crayshaw would rip a story like that into pieces, and I’d soon follow.’

‘Crayshaw.’ Mickey flung his arms out in a big stretch. ‘He’s the big man, calling the shots, yeah?’

‘Skinny little man, more like.’ Vida clicked on her fiftieth file – soon to be, she was sure, her fiftieth dead‐end. ‘Rear Admiral John Anthony Crayshaw. What about him?’

‘Bit past it, don’t you reckon? Who put him in charge?’

‘Good question.’ Vida shrugged. ‘We made some inquiries, trying to go above his head. But no one seemed quite sure how he was selected. We were referred to a Commodore Powers, who was meant to be handling the inquiry into the Ascendant, but he never got back to us. Suppose he deferred to the higher rank.’

Mickey sat up straighter in his seat. ‘That’s Commodore James Powers, age forty‐five, on the Directorate of Navy Plans at Whitehall, yeah?’

‘Yeah. He’s responsible for deploying those soldiers around Stanchion House, securing the area around the wreck.’ Vida looked over to his desk. ‘Why have you brought his file up?’

‘Why not? We’re getting nowhere with the small fry, may as well check out the big geezers.’ His lips moved a little as he read. Then he frowned. ‘Wonder if this is why they chose Powers for the job. He was on a tub that went down in the North Sea too.

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